The Lady of the Lake
by TheCrimsonAuthoress
Summary: In the wake of Matthew's death, Lady Mary cannot seem to hold onto hope. Can Tom help to bring her back from the abyss? Rated T for suggestion of character self-harm. One shot.


The Lady of the Lake

She stood with her back to him, waist-deep in the water. She did not move, she did not speak, when she heard him approach, heard him call out her name. She simply stood, as if she had grown out of the lake bed below, the ripples behind her form the only evidence to the contrary. She looked like she would stand there until the end of time. He called for her again, his voice softer than his first query.

"Mary?"

Still she did not turn.

It had been three months, three long months since Matthew's death. His ghastly fate had shaken the entire family, but Tom had felt it as an especially horrible shock— to lose a brother after his beloved Sybil's death, so soon after, had been almost too much to bear. For a time, he hadn't thought that the cloud of death would ever lift from his heart or mind. He had watched Mary as she crossed into the land of the dead, to join him as a specter in the space between worlds, a space he knew well.

He also knew, though, that time heals many things, even things you think are impossible to move on from. His light, his guiding force, his tether back into the land of the living, was his daughter, his Sibby. She needed him, and she was the last trace of her mother on this earth. He would live for her. He would carry on, for her. Mary had her George, but she was a different sort of parent. He could not blame her in her grief, but he could help her to see that she needed little George as much as he needed her. Her son was her tether, but she seemed to lose her grip just as he thought she might have started to pull forwards. She was floating ever further away. Tom was the only one who could truly understand.

She still hadn't moved a muscle at his call, but it was as if he could hear the wheels spinning in her mind, the gears marching forward with the initial stages of whatever plan had brought her out onto the moor this morning, had made her walk into that lake. He almost saw her body twitch, as if in indecision.

"If you throw yourself in there, you know I'll come after you," he said warningly.

Unfortunately, she seemed to take these words as the fuel she needed. He saw her body start to slowly sink into the clear glass of the lake's surface. He was already ripping off his coat and running to the water's edge. He splashed violently where she had made nary a sound as she slipped and slipped further down. Just before her head submerged, he had caught her around the middle and pressed her to him, her back firmly held tight to his chest. He expected a struggle, but none came. It seemed as if she no longer cared if the plan was executed or not. He did not loosen his hold on her stomach. Her arms floated lazily in front of her, atop the water's surface, as if she couldn't be bothered to do anything with them.

Wordlessly they stood, he catching his breath, she staring out across the cattails and lily pads. The water was cold as it sogged his trousers, shirt, and waistcoat. Her cream-colored shift dress and pale lavender sweater soaked up the water and made gooseflesh erupt on her white arms. He would stand there for as long as it took. His grip would anchor her to this world and tell her she was not alone. In a world where no one could understand, he could. He waited for her to come back, to come in her own time and not before, to make the choice she wanted to make as to how and when.

He knew not what conversation she had with herself as they stood there, but he could guess. Guess and comfort. Wonder and be patient.

Finally, finally, her left arm came across the surface of the water, slowly, as if not to disturb the stick bugs that were hopping from lily leaf to lily leaf, and grasped his arm around her middle. Her other hand came up to reach behind her and grasp at his shoulder, her fingers digging in slightly to the flesh there, as if asking him to not let go.

In response, he laid his head gently upon the top of hers and closed his eyes. He heard her exhale a soft sigh, and felt her rigid body sag in his arms, floating now not with aimless grief, but with relief as the storm wore itself out, and left behind a spirit that, for now, was placid and clear as the water they stood in.


End file.
